Web of Secrets
by adventxrous
Summary: Secrets. The web that had wrapped itself around all the nations. Connecting them all and yet trapping them in this world of lies where their very existence was a secret itself. Yet here it was. A grave. The very tear that had just ripped the web to shreds, removing the trap but also the only thing that kept the nations from falling. And now Sealand was plummeting.
1. Chapter 1

Sealand never had felt more alone than right then.

He was dressed in a black suit that he had described as coal upon first seeing it. The only splash of color on him was the small blue and white buttons that held his suit together. His soft blond hair barely contrasted his light skin tone and he had to resist fixing it, having started to hate the feeling of it being brushed back and held down by too much gel for his liking. His eyes (which had once been described to him as reflections of the sea when he asked what they looked like) barely scanned the world around him, instead focusing on his lap and his moving hands.

His fingers tugged at the h loose strings which had begun to fall from the edges of his suit. He had spent the car ride here pulling and tugging, trying to forget about the surrounding world by focusing on the small things, such as these strings. They were worn and frayed at this point from his relentless pulling at them. He saw part of himself in them; he too was slowly falling apart.

He twisted the strings into multiple knots, finding distraction in practicing. Small fingers changing small strings. He considered trying to form shapes with them—he had seen Uncle Denmark do something similar with bread when bored while baking—but decided against it when he couldn't think of any shapes to form. He wouldn't have had a chance anyways, though, as soon he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.

Sealand glanced over at the other on his right, quiet blues looking at each other from different faces. Red hair—Sealand insisted it was strawberry—was also brushed back to try and tame the wild hair which was normally always sticking out in any direction. As if the other had just had Denmark come by and ruffle his hair. They were dressed in a similar black suit as Sealand himself, though theirs hadn't been torn apart at the edges and had green and white buttons to compliment it.

Ladonia simply shook his head, raising his nose a bit in disappointment at the other's childish behavior. He was silent in his judging, and yet Sealand felt the sting of it just as much—if not more—than if he had yelled it out. The other looked forward again, having had given his warning as if he himself was so much better. He always did treat Sealand as some lesser, as if the boy did not know how to function on his own.

Sealand's hands clenched into small fists and his jaw tightened. He hated how smugly the other had been treating him recently, especially considering recent events. But one glance at the silent Tino on his own left, and he realized that right now was the moment to be fighting. He dropped his hands as they relaxed before moving to sit on top of them. He hated giving Ladonia the satisfaction of victory, but he didn't plan on starting a fight.

Tino had his hair carefully brushed and was in a suit similar to Sealand and Ladonia's. His buttons were like Sealand's and yet they had a different gleam to them that the micronation hadn't yet been able to pinpoint what it was. Finland's face unsettled Sealand slightly, though. It was the most neutral, expressionless countenance ever found on the Finnish man. He wasn't smiling nor was he frowning. He only seemed to have a small glare on his face, as if the wall in front of him held all the problems.

It was just the three of them sitting in the row, a small and broken family in front of a crowd of respectful individuals who had come to offer words. Sealand had guessed that this fact was what angered his "Mama" the most, as there was originally suppose to be six of them sitting in the row. Or perhaps it was the rumors that had begun to circulate around their group, poisonous words that ripped apart ancient ties. Words with too much evidence to be disproven upon first glance. Sealand hadn't believed a single one, but he didn't know what was going through his parent's mind at the moment.

And of course, the source of discontent could always be stemming from the casket that gleamed from the center of the small area in front of them. It was a dark blue, like someone had taken a drop of the night sky and painted its glossy surface with the color until the universe was trapped in it. Such a hopeful color for such a morbid object. A grave, hiding the image which nobody could see.

Sealand's gaze was drawn away from the casket, which he had started to stare at unknowingly, to the doors in the back of the church as the sound of someone approaching and then the doors creaking open. His heart leapt when he saw blond locks, praying that he was back. That this had all been a misunderstanding and that there was no need to have a funeral for a body that was no longer in the casket.

But then the blond turned out to be too light and a head with a bandage wrapped around his ears was visible. Iceland was silent as he awkwardly walked down the isle, tugging at a dark brown suit nervously before taking a seat on the left side of Finland. The two shared a silent conversation with one locked glance before Iceland turned away in shame and Finland's gaze hardened.

The funeral began not too much later after that incident, but if someone was to ask Sealand what happened, he would've been unable to answer. He faintly remembered someone speaking, followed by Finland and Iceland, and then a long period of silence. Then some whispering and someone had been dragged out for starting fighter. He recalled spiky blond hair that stuck right up, but couldn't swear on it. He just knew the room smelled less like smoke once the person had left. Someone with white hair and a ruby gaze had followed not too long after. Sealand didn't know why they had started a fight in this occasion, but he had an assumption.

His memory sharpened at the burial service. It had been a few hours since the start of the funeral and despite how tired he had begun to feel, Sealand didn't even think the idea of him falling asleep was possible. He stared down at the hole in the dirt, watching as the casket was lowered into the ground before dirt began to pile on top of it. Sealand watched the few selected countries place the dirt on top of the night sky until it was hidden from view. As it had disappeared, his heart had tightened until he felt himself have to take in a sharp breath to try and calm his burning chest.

They were burying family. Burying secrets and lies. Sealand knew that they all wanted this done, just by the way they pushed the dirt in. As if trying to hide the fact that there was a body right there. Trying to hide the fact that the unforgettable had been done and now there was a hole in the universe that could never be filled.

A hand was placed on his shoulder and Tino led him and Ladonia away from the grave. None of the three had cried yet and their tear-free faces all had similar expressions of just simplicity. As if they were robots who emotions had been shut off, and now they simply functioned at the default level. Sealand felt like this was not how they were suppose to be and yet he could not stop himself from feeling and acting this way.

Sealand was pulled from the group as they walked by a new hand. It was smaller than the one he missed and yet it was more gentle than it had ever been before. The boy glanced up at England, his expression unchanging as he scanned the man over to take him in. A simple black suit and carefully tamed bright blond hair. And for the first time in a while, bright green eyes that shown with deep worry for the boy.

England crouched down and placed another hand on Sealand's other shoulder, his face set in a small frown. "Peter," he said softly, surprising his younger brother slightly. Sealand had not been expecting to be addressed in such a casual and yet comforting way. Normally only the Nordics and some other micro nations actually called him by his human name.

"Peter," England continued after a deep breath, "I wanted to come check on you. You've never been this quiet before and I know that this must be hard-"

"Please no."

Sealand didn't realize it was him who had interrupted until England gave him a slightly shocked look. He hadn't recognized his own voice because of how quiet and small it had sounded, as if someone half his age had spoken. But once he started speaking, he found it hard for him to stop. "I don't want to hear the same speech that everyone else is going to say. If you're going to talk to me, please talk to me. Don't just recite the same speech."

England looked at him in shocked silence before his face shifted to an unknown expression. His eyebrows shifted upwards to have the edges curving downwards and the corners of his mouth twitched a bit, as if deciding whether to curve up or down. Then he sighed and nodded. "You've grown," he mumbled, his gaze clouded as if remembering something. "Alright. No speech. But Peter, I am worried about you. You haven't shed a single tear and are just not normal your normal self."

"Do you blame him?" Finland asked, finally walking over. He placed a hand on Sealand's shoulder, moving England's hand away. And then he gently tugged the boy closer to him and away from England, his hand moving from the shoulder to carefully hold him protectively. Ladonia stood on his other side, watching with a neutral expression.

England stood straight up, tugging on his suit before patting it down to remove it of all wrinkles. His eyes scanned Finland and Sealand felt like he had witnessed another silent exchange, similar to what had happened in the funeral room with Iceland. "Of course not," England huffed. "I'm sorry. I should be making my leave." With their conversation cut short, England left Sealand behind with the other two.

"What did he talk to you about?" Finland asked Sealand, his eyes softening as he gently rubbed the boy's hair back. His hand shook slightly at the action and Sealand reached up to gently hold it with his own, smaller hands.

Sealand squeezed the Finnish man's hands gently, something he had seen his father, Sweden, do in the past when Finland got upset, worried, or sad. "I'm fine, Mama." Finland's eyes turned sadder at the name, but he seemed to relax. "He just wanted to offer condolences."

Finland nodded. "Did he ask anything about your uncle? About Denmark? Did he say anything?"

Of course. England had been one of the people who had been discussing it recently, though Sealand didn't think he had been against Denmark. In fact, Sealand distinctly recalled England arguing for Denmark's side. He hadn't known it until just recently, but it seemed his old caretaker and his uncle had begun to heal past rivalries and form an unlikely friendship.

"No," Sealand answered. "Nothing about the rumors, nothing about Uncle Denmark." Sealand glanced around them, staring to feel small. He had to get away from all of this. If Finland was worried about England asking, than perhaps others had already brought it up. Sealand could not handle someone asking him about _that_ right now. Or, at least not here, at this moment. "Did you bring it?" he asked suddenly, trying to change the conversation and get a way to escape the situation.

He watched Ladonia frown in confusion at the question, even more so when Finland reached into his suit and pulled out a small item. It was a flag, tiny but the perfect size to fit in its destined place. Finland handed Sealand the flag before closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and releasing his grip on the flag. "Why don't you go put that up?" he proposed, already knowing the boy would ask.

Sealand nodded and soon he was running. He weaved between nations, his hair loosing its clean look. Soon it was wild, blond sticking out in every direction so that it looked like he had just rolled around on the ground or just dried his hair off after swimming in the sea. Finally, he came to a stop at the headstone, looking down at the fresh dirt. The brown was a lighter shade than the surrounding land, a reminder of how fresh the grave was. And yet, even though it had barely been ten minutes since the end of ceremony, it looked as if this was how it always had been.

Sealand glanced down at the flag, brushing his hand against the fabric. A deep blue with a bright yellow cross; the Swedish flag. The colors had always reminded Sealand of a sun in the middle of a wonderful sky. Or, perhaps, of his Papa's eyes, which were always twinkling despite his neutral face.

Something wet hit the flag and Sealand pulled up a hand to feel his cheek. A line ran down his cheek to his chin, the ghosts of water still there. Soon one line became two and soon Sealand had to hold the flag to his chest with a shaky hand. His breath was coming in via an uneven amount of air, and he began trying to wipe away the rapid tears.

"Why did you leave, Papa? Everyone says you should've come back. You were suppose to come back!" he accused, glad the crowd had already shifted away. "Why didn't you come back? Nations don't die for good! Not from something like a stupid fire!"

The fire. They had all been home except for Denmark, who had been out drinking with some friends. Sweden had been hosting the Nordic family reunion at his house. Sealand had been fast asleep in his room when the fire started. He hadn't woke up at first. He didn't know everyone else had escaped. Sweden had run back in to save him.

Only Sealand had returned alive.

No one, not even Finland, would tell him how he had died. They just said he had run back inside without a word and that was all. Nothing else had been said and Sealand was left standing in a dark void of questions. His memories ended with him falling asleep and started with him waking up alone in a hospital.

Alone. Sealand felt so alone.

Sweden had become his shelter over the years. His "Papa." He hadn't known he needed someone until he had found himself depending on the Swedish man. And while he could survive on his own—Sealand would continue to state that until the end of his days—there was a sense of belonging he had found by being in Sweden's family.

"You need to come back. Mama is sad and I need you to come and do that thing where you make a really bad joke and he laughs. And Ladonia is being smug like always and you need to give him a lesson. And... Uncle Denmark is in a lot of trouble and you need to help him. People are saying he killed you..." Sealand mumbled.

"I don't know what to think," Sealand admitted. "I never would've thought he'd do something like that. But people are saying you both have fought a lot in the past and he's not the happiest when drunk and I know he was out drinking..." Sealand began to choke on his own tears and hiccups, "but I still don't think he would've done that. Mama says that he's changed and wouldn't do that, but he didn't come today and I know she's worried about being able to defend him now."

"Life is just a mess," he cried. "Please just come back. You've always promised me you wouldn't let anything happen to me but how can you protect me if you aren't here? You were never going to leave me alone... Why did you leave me alone now?"

Silence. Deafening silence.

Sealand realized now that him standing there, talking and begging, was useless. Sweden wouldn't just appear out of the ground as a zombie or lower from the skies like some guardian angel. He was buried six feet under Sealand's feet and he was going to stay there no matter how much the micronation screamed and cried.

Sealand closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm scared, Papa. They say only a nation can kill another nation and make it permanent. Does that mean someone is out there killing nations? Which nation? I'm scared. I don't want to die," he whispered, the tears returning with a new wave of fear and pain. "What if someone did murder you? What if one of us next? I can't loose Mama too. Or Uncle Denmark or Norway. Or even Iceland. I'm scared, Papa."

Sealand finally took the flag and put it down on the top of the headstone, the flag draping down right next to the name: Berwald Oxenstierna. A human name, so that if anyone found this grave, the existence of nations would remain a secret. Even something as simple as headstone was not untouched by the secrets that suffocated the lives of every nation.

Secrets. The web that had wrapped itself around all the nations. Even Sealand had his own secrets, fabricated lies he had unknowingly or knowingly woven to protect himself from both friend and foe. He stared at the grave with a sudden realization that perhaps his father was not the only one buried. Perhaps they were all buried and trapped in a web of secrets.

And Sealand had a feeling that Sweden's death had just ripped the web open.


	2. Chapter 2

Sweden had always told Sealand two things.

The first had been first introduced after Sealand had gotten in a fight with Ladonia. His brother-in-law had smashed every one of Sealand's toy boats after a partly harsh argument over which of them should lead the micronations. The collection had included ones over fifty years old and some that Sweden had uniquely made for him.

"We don't hate people," his father had told him after Sealand came running, telling his father of how much he hated Ladonia. How he never wanted to see the other micronation again. Sealand hadn't actually meant the words, but he still was angry enough to not speak to his sibling for almost a week.

"Hating people only results in rifts," Sweden had continued. "No matter how much they hurt you and upset you, you must always be the bigger person. Learn to move past it. Even if you don't forgive them, you must never hate them." Sweden had been very insistent upon the topic. And Sealand hadn't said a word; not until his father had gotten up to go talk to Ladonia.

"Papa, if we're not suppose to hate people, then why did you and Uncle Denmark hate each other for so long?" Sealand hadn't realized the impact of his words until he saw his father tense up and freeze.

But Sweden had quickly relaxed and turned around to face Sealand again, crouching so that they were eye level. "...You're right. Your uncle and I did hate each other for a long time. And it was this hatred that taught me to stop hating, even when my brother did not. While I learned to let go of my hate, Denmark... did not. I watched as it created a permanent rift between us. And while he has forgotten his hate and now tries to heal the rift, I'm afraid he never will be able to completely do so. This is why I don't want you to hate Ladonia. You are brothers. You must learn from history in order to not repeat it."

After this, Sealand had allowed Sweden to place a small kiss on his forehead before watching his father walk off. The conversation had been repeated a few times as the years went on, but the memory of the first time always stayed the sharpest.

The second thing was to never linger in the past. To move on. This conversation was actually connected to the one about learning not to hate. But for some reason, it was always given separately. As if Sweden never wanted to directly tell Sealand that the two were intertwined.

The instance of its occurrence that Sealand most distinctly remembered was after the death of his founder, Roy Bates. Sealand had been harsh towards Michael, who succeeded his father. He often criticized the younger leader and refused to do anything that he was requested to do. Sweden had begun to notice while visiting Sealand's original home and had pulled the child aside to talk.

"Why do you treat Michael this way?" he had calmly asked. His father didn't seem upset just... curious. As if he couldn't understand why Sealand would act as he did. He lifted Sealand into his lap and met the boy with a soft but serious gaze was gentle blue.

Sealand had felt that the answer should be obvious. "He is trying to replace Roy! I want him to realize that he will never be the same!" he had cried.

"Of course he won't be the same," Sweden had calmly explained. "He is not the same man as his father. Just as you are not the same as England. Or Iceland is not the same as Norway. We are all unique in our very own way. And you can not hold this against him as he is not the one who decides that we are all unique."

"But I want him to be the same..." Sealand didn't see why Michael couldn't be. He didn't see why the son had to be so different.

"You cannot linger on the past. Roy was an important part of your history. But your history is made up of many more leaders than just him. If you focus on the past, you will never be able to enjoy the present. Learn to love what you have now, not what you had. Roy helped you grow to who you are now. And now it's your turn to allow Michael to help you grow even more," Sweden had calmly explained.

His father had gone off to work on political business with England soon after, but his words had lingered in Sealand's mind for much longer. Soon after, Sealand had begun to treat Michael with more kindness. He began working hard to do what his leader instructed and soon Sealand had accepted Michael as his own. Michael was not Roy, but Sealand did not mind anymore. Michael was good in his own way.

Sealand thought about these two rules as he laid in his bed only a few days after the funeral. It was his bed in the home in Helsinki with his Mama; the small and broken family of three having moved to the Finnish capital after Sweden's house had burned down, leaving their original home as a pile of charred wood and ashes.

The house was good enough. It was not as large as Papa's but still fit all three of them and Hana (the family dog) with ease. Sealand had even gotten his own room after having to share one with Ladonia for years. It had been decorated by Finland in the spirit of sailing. The wallpaper made it look like waves were splashing against the hanging fixtures and space had been left for every single boat of Sealand's.

Yet the child had not found joy in the room. As he laid there every night, alone and trapped with only his own thoughts for company, he had begun to miss the company of Ladonia. The company of any living creature besides him, in fact. While he knew he would see them once the sun rose, it was still those long nights that kept him awake. Furthermore, Sealand was stuck on the idea that he was much too old to go to someone in the middle of the night because he was merely scared, no matter how tempting the idea was.

And now it was during one of these long nights that he found himself thinking over the repeated two rules. He knew that even though Sweden was no longer there to enforce them, they should still be followed. But how could he follow the rules set down by the Swedish man, if Sweden himself was the reason he was breaking them.

"Why would you go back for me?" Sealand angrily growled at the sky above. "I am nation! I would've survived that fire! Was that your way of saying you didn't actually think I was a real nation? Well congrats! You lack of belief got you killed!"

"Why would you leave? I _hate_ you for that, you know? Yeah, I'm breaking one of the rules. And I don't care. Because you deserve to be hated. You deserve to not receive my love because you aren't hear to give me some too!" Sealand went quiet and cut off his rant as he heard footsteps pass. But soon those faded into silence and the micro nation was able to continue venting his anger to the skies, though this time in a more quiet voice.

"I know that if I just forgave you and moved on, I wouldn't hate you right now. But I can't. I'm not like you Papa. And now you're not here to make sure I do act like you. I can't just forget about the past and act like you were never part of it. I can't just be happy with the 'now' when you're not here. It's not like Roy and Michael. I don't get a replacement. All I get is emptiness," he whispered to the heavens above.

Once again—as it had been every time he had these one-sided conversations—Sealand only received silence in answer.

His door creaked open and he instantly closed his eyes. He went still, knowing very well that he should be asleep at this hour. It seemed that Finland had come back as he heard footsteps coming closer and closer. Finally Sealand was shifted slightly as a weight was put on the side of his bed. Finland sat next to his son, stroking the boy's hair. He had no idea that the child was still asleep.

"I can't believe you had to experience this kind of grief, lapsi. We had always hoped that the newer nations would not have the same kind of situation. We had hoped that the murdering of nations had died after the incident with France and Holy Rome," Finland sighed.

Sealand had to stop himself from taking in a sharp breath at this. He had heard about the fallen nation from the occasional whispers of nations. But no one had ever mentioned that _France_ had been the one who had dealt the killing blow. He had always assumed that the Holy Roman Empire had merely faded away with his country.

 _More secrets_ , he thought to himself.

"But don't worry, I'll protect you. I won't let anything happen to you. Sverige," Finland's voice hitched at the name from the wave of emotion that came with it, "will be the last one. We'll figure out who did this and everything will be good. Life will be good again..."

Sealand wanted to argue as his Mama stood up and the weight of the bed left. He wanted to ask how Finland could even imply that life could be 'good' again with Papa gone. How could Finland just be so willing to forget and move on? Had he never loved Sweden?

Finland's exiting footsteps paused at the doorway. "Oh, and Peter? Learn to get better at faking your sleep. Your breathing was too heavy."

Sealand's shot his eyes open as the door closed, sitting up straight. So Finland had known the entire time that he was awake? Actually, now that he thought about it, the thought of Finland actually falling for his act was harder to believe. The Finnish man always had been able to tell these kind of things, as if he had some kind of sixth sense.

Sealand distinctly remembered a time that he had been trying to sneak some cookies from their container. Finland's voice had called out through the house, stating that he was soon going to be in the kitchen. The action was unusual, but it made it very obvious that his Mama had somehow known that he was up to something.

The micronation looked at the door, thinking about what he had heard. Especially considering that Finland had shared this with him willingly. What was the man thinking? Perhaps he thought he could trust Sealand with this information...

Well if so, then he would prove that he could be trusted. He wouldn't share this information with anybody. Ever. Sailor's honor.

His mouth opened wide as a yawn escaped from deep within him. He rubbed his eyes, the fatigue washing over him. He decided that if he was to be able to function at all tomorrow, he would have to go ahead and go to sleep. He closed his eyes and found himself drifting away into sleep.

* * *

 _Sealand found himself walking on a tightrope made of webbing._

 _Around him, white webbing made a sort of ground. Nations wiggled in it, wrapped up in the webbing. Some had more webbing than others, the range being from a few strands to only their hair being visible. But as Sealand looked, he found no familiar pair of glasses and blond hair that shadowed dark blue eyes._

 _He noticed that the Nordics were all near each other in this web. Carefully he ran along the thin lines until he was neck to them, realizing why his father was missing as he noticed a large hole in the webbing. It had been hidden by the other Nordics' bodies but now that he stood there, he wondered how even those could have hid this. The edging of the hole was torn and frayed, as if a knife had cut it out._

 _He looked down the hole at the endless darkness that spread out below. No sound escaped it, the area acting like a black hole. No one spoke it's name nor was there any sign. Yet as he looked down there, he knew with a sickening twist what that was. It was where nations went to die._

 _That was where his Papa was._

 _For a second, a strange calm settled over him. His breath left him and he looked down again to see a small light in the darkness. He considered jumping, trying to find his father. But then he shook his head and the strange feeling disappeared with it. This was not the time to give up. Sweden wouldn't have wanted him to give up._

 _He turned to look at the other Nordics, inspecting the webbing that was around each of them._

 _Iceland had the least, almost his entire sleeping body visible as what webbing he had was thin and few. The only thick webbing was around his face, completely hiding the boy's head. He didn't seem to be suffocating on the webbing as he slept, something that Sealand found strange._

 _Norway had more than his little brother. His webbing grew thickest over his arms and chest, hiding his upper body so that his head and lower body were the only parts visible. Looking at him, Sealand felt that familiar anger grow. The man hadn't been to visit since Sweden's death and Sealand had heard from word of mouth that he had been too busy hiding evidence of Denmark to decrease suspicion of the Dane._

 _Speaking of the Dane, he had the most. They were thickest over his upper body and head, only his legs and feet visible. Sealand sneered at the man. While he hadn't been suspicious at first of his uncle's involvement, he was frustrated to no end with how the Dane refused to show himself or appear at any events. It made him more of a suspect every moment._

 _The only Nordic Sealand hadn't looked at was Finland. One glance at his Mama confused him, the micronation not_ _understanding why there would be so much webbing around him. It wasn't as much as Denmark's, but he still had more than Norway or Iceland._

 _Without knowing what this webbing was, Sealand had no idea on how to interpret everything. He had his suspicions, but there was no way to confirm it. He turned to walk and go look at others before the ground beneath his feet gave away and he was plummeting._

Suddenly he sat up straight, his head smacking hard against an unknown object.

Sealand groaned in pain as he looked at Ladonia, the boy glaring harshly at him as he rubbed his own head. Ladonia was dressed in his pajamas, the outfit a dark blue with different Pokémons decorating it. His hair was a wild mess and sleep was visible in the corners of his eye. He appeared to have just climbed out of bed only a few minutes ago. Sealand also noted the tear stains tracking down his cheeks.

"What was that for? Why did you smack me in the head, dumbom?" the fellow micronation growled.

"Why were you in my room leaning over me?" Sealand snapped back, anger flaring up at him at the other's attitude. He realized how easily angered he was these days, but decided to address the problem later. Now was not the time to contemplate one's self.

"You woke me up," Ladonia huffed, sitting down on the bed. He weight caused Sealand to bounce but didn't shift him like how Finland's presence had done. "You were crying so loud that I heard you in my room."

That wasn't such a big feat. The two boys' bedrooms were side by side and the walls weren't very soundproof. What confused Sealand was that he had been crying. In his dream (he finally realized that must've been what the web incident was; a dream induced by the recent traumatic events), he hadn't cried at all. So why would he have cried in real life? "So you... came to check up on me?"

"Of course not!" Ladonia lifted his nose up and wrinkled it slightly. "I came in here to try and shut you up! But when I got in here you..." he paused, his breath seeming to hitch, "you weren't breathing. You had gone quiet and still. You looked... dead."

This quieted the micronation until something dawned on him. "Is that why you were crying?" he asked, motioning to the tear stains. "Because you thought I had died? Do you actually… care?" he teased.

Ladonia instantly began trying to wipe away the tear marks. "Of course I don't care about you! You're annoying, rude, and a complete pain!"

"And better than you," Sealand interjected with a small smirk.

"No you aren't!" he snapped before huffing. "I was crying because I knew I'd get blamed, and I honestly didn't want to end up in trouble just cause you decided to spontaneously die! Everyone knows the person with the most motive is guilty! Just like how we know Denmark was the one to murder Sweden."

"Don't you dare speak about my uncle like that!" Sealand snapped, pushing the other boy back. "Plus, we don't even know that it was murder! It could have just been a horrible accident that somehow killed Papa! And even if it was murder, my uncle would never kill his brother! Ever!"

Ladonia simply smirked, crossing his arms. He didn't speak, causing Sealand to quick snap, "Why are you smirking like that?"

Ladonia chuckled. "Oh simply enjoying the fact that I know something that you don't," he explained smugly. "It's quite a good feeling in fact."

"What is it? What do you know?" Sealand pried, his stomach suddenly tightening.

"Why should I tell you?" Ladonia mused. "You can't force me to speak. But…" his eyes were drawn around the room, "if you agree to give all your desserts for the neck month, I might consider sharing it."

The fact that the price was so small for nation told Sealand that the boy really wanted to tell him. The biggest price in accepting though was that if he agreed, he would be encouraging the other's hold over him. Sealand would be admitting that sometimes Ladonia had more power than me.

"No, it's not worth it," he growled. "Just take your secrets and get out of here and let me rest."

Ladonia raised an eyebrow before shrugging. "Fine. Guess you'll never know what they found at the crime scene," he casually stated, beginning to walk off. His footsteps were slow and careful, allowing Sealand plenty of time to take in the information and completely process what exactly had just been said.

"Wait!" the sea loving nation cried, his stomach tightening even more. "I changed my mind. I agree. Now what did they find?"

Ladonia smirked victoriously as he turned back around to face Sealand. "Evidence that the death wasn't an accident.

"And your 'innocent' uncle Denmark has his name written all over it."


End file.
